Armitage Shanks™

Dressed in his resplendent uniform
and his white silken gloves
each with three buttons
he shines porcelain daily

He places ancient scrolls of parchment
in the sacred reading cubicles
he wets the terracotta dreams and waxes
filling all the phials with ointment

He tinctures the air with incense
and places floral offerings in the vase
he cleans each shining altar with love
adding Naptha where it is needed

Cleanliness is his obsession
and soon they will visit his shrine
the one he cares for day after day
spick and span, spick and span

He knows his place.

Soon the Temple doors will open
and they will flock for confession
for some welcome release on their journey
just passing through, passing through

He knows that they cannot see him
untouchable the Brahmin in his Soul
does what he must always do
he shines porcelain daily

He buffs the vanity mirrors
and fills all the machines with fayre
adding blue pills and plastic
which perhaps, they might later wear.

He knows his place.

And when his shift is done
he reads Nietzsche in the night
and Lao Tze at dawn
he worries at the fading of his sight

As the eight bells toll at five
once more he becomes alive
he shuffles off the duvet warm
and reveilles at his alarm

Dressed in his resplendent uniform
and his white silken gloves
each with three buttons
he shines porcelain daily

He knows his place.